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1st place Karaley Dargen - GryffindorIt was the twist at the end that secured the win for this drabble. Lucius and Narcissa are wildly unsympathetic characters in the books until we get a small glimpse of them in DH when Charity is being tortured. Kara brought that shared intimacy and concern to the fore in this drabble. (Although, it has to be said that I'm devastated there's no twin sister of Draco's roaming Hogwarts and getting Sorted into Gryffindor ...)

2nd place- hestiajones - HufflepuffNatalie's characterisation of Albus, and the way she seamlessly weaved the words into the drabble, secured second place (and dem nearly first) this week.

Honourable Mentions: babewithbrains for a really rather good James/Lily, and coolh5000 for a Neville story that made me sigh and LollyLovesick for an excellent Pansy drabble.

~Carole~

(Please feel free to PM me if you want to ask questions about the Gauntlet or my judging)

Albus Dumbledore was acutely aware of how people thought of him. They called him one of the best and bravest wizard of all time, a worthy Gryffindor; they said he was the only one Voldemort feared. But that is how one is remembered: his deeds, his achievements, the difference he makes. No human being, however, can be grasped in full. No human being wants to be grasped in full. What defines a person in the eyes of others is a summation.

The summation of Albus Dumbledore hardly did him justice. He wasn’t entirely brave. He wasn’t entirely fearless, for when Albus Dumbledore faced the Mirror of Erised, his knees positively trembled.

Oh, it hardly told him anything new. Unlike Harry, who was assaulted by the sudden appearance of his dead parents, and Ronald, to whom the false promise of an exciting and glorious had been given, Albus saw what he acutely understood was irretrievable: kind, naive, expectant bluebell eyes.

They said he was forgiven.

And that was how he’d known it was all a mirage.

After two nights of nearly getting caught, Albus had thought Harry wouldn’t return. Besides, hadn’t the boy seen enough? It was time to pack the Mirror up and send it through the trapdoor.

But then, the sound of quickly approaching footsteps could be heard. To his amazement, Harry was back. Still camouflaged by the powerful Disillusionment Charm he’d been using for three nights in a row, he quickly moved away from the Mirror, determined to give Harry his space. When he noticed the hunger in the boy’s eyes as he settled down on the ground, ready to spend a whole night there, he halted.

He was taken a hundred years back.

The punch on his face had been so powerful his nose broke with an audible crack. The agony, however, was not enough to blur his vision; he saw Aberforth, eyes filled with tears and anger and hatred, and above all, loss. A loss of such magnitude that nothing earthly could compensate for it.

It was there, that same craving, that same ache, in Harry’s bright green’s eyes now.

It was there in his, too, though unseen by anybody.

The only difference between the three of them was that Harry could be still be saved from the inevitable, unyielding despair that had claimed Albus and his brother. And he had to save the boy, before he was accountable for one more ruined life.

Removing the charm from his body, he said in a firm voice that betrayed nothing, “So, back again, Harry?”

This was tough, very tough. Part of this was because I had to discount some lovely drabbles for SPaG reasons, (and canon misspellings or capitalisation ) the other was because I was torn asunder by the loveliness of your words.

But ...

Here we go.

First Place -Karaley Dargen Gryffindor.The way Kara's drabbles are showing a sympathetic side to Lucius and Narcissa continues to enthrall me. Plus, this was a very clean drabble with no discernible errors.

2nd Place - LollyLovesick - HufflepuffI loved this drabble. Pansy is so bitter and vengeful, and you get the feeling her revenge is going to be fearsome!

The moment he stepped into the lift, Neville knew he’d interrupted something: an old friend, trying hard not to cry.

“Hannah,” he said, smiling apologetically.

She swiped at her face, recovering quickly. “Hi, Neville.”

He pressed the button for the ground floor, noting no other numbers were lit. She must be leaving, too.

“How are you?” he asked. “Not well, if you’re here.”

“I’m okay. It’s my dad… looks like he’s going to be okay though.”

“Good,” he said, wondering if the same could be said of Hannah. Neville knew a lot about crying in these lifts and even more about trying to pull it together when someone came around.

“How are you?”

There was something in the way she lifted her chin that showed genuine interest, despite her own suffering. At this moment, he noticed something for the first time: Hannah was pretty. It was a clean sort of beauty, natural and easy, and had to do with her eyes and her skin and her soft-looking hair.

“Neville?”

“Sorry. I’m good, too.”

The bell dinged, but he barely registered the sound. Instead, the sight of Hannah’s smile began to shimmer and blur until it was no longer Hannah at all, and no lift either. Instead, he was on a fast-moving train, with snowy hills and trees flying by in the windows and quiet conversation all around him. He turned his head in slow motion to the compartment door where Ginny was standing, her face white and scared.

And in his mind—both then, on the train, and now, in the lift—there was the image of wide eyes and fair skin and flowing blond hair and a smile that he’d known as well as his own. She was sitting beside him in the Great Hall, walking with him in the corridor, speaking up for him in the Room of Requirement. And the whole thing was nothing more than one giant missed opportunity, lost moment after lost moment, wishes dissolving in the air like a spell long spent. He’d never worked up the courage to say anything… and then it was Christmas, and everything was frozen.

When he saw her again in May, the whole world was different.

The sound of his name brought him back to the lift… to Hannah, not Luna. She was saying goodbye and walking away—Hannah Abbott with her pretty eyes and her genuine interest and her hospital tears.

And just like that, he wasn’t nervous anymore. He knew the heartbreak of a hundred missed opportunities, and he knew the reward of acting on a surge of bravery. He took off down the corridor and rounded the corner. “Wait, Hannah!”

She spun around, obviously surprised.

He caught his breath, then… “Have you eaten?”

Her face was a kaleidoscope. He wanted to slow it down, take it a bit at a time.

Name: Ariana/lucca4House: GryffindorCharacter Used: Bellatrix BlackRatings/Warnings: 6th-7th years; strong profanity and violence and character death and abuseWord Count: 496 - no cutting this time .A/N:

It’s the watching that Bellatrix enjoys the most.

Inside the woman is reading the paper on the kitchen chair and her husband is staring at something on the table while drinking some kind of gin and the little boy is brooding by the window. They do not see the dark, glittering pair of eyes watching from the shadows outside. They have no idea that in mere moments, it will all end.

The man walks over to the young boy and holds up a broken picture frame and he’s shouting and purple in the face. His son’s eyes are wide but his jaw is set and he answers back with a defiant glint in his gaze.

The man’s lips press together and his rage is red and explosive and bruising. His wife leans her nose closer to the paper and concentrates hard on the small print.

Bellatrix lifts her fingers to her cheek and presses them there and winces. Inside, the boy does the same. His eyes have lost their defiance and his face is flushed and angry. And for a moment Bellatrix is still and cold because she can feel his defeat and it feels so familiar.

She knows it well (perhaps too well).

“What was that?”

“No.”

The word “no” is small but sharp, satisfying but biting. Bellatrix loves saying it.

But her father doesn’t like hearing it. He raises his wand and suddenly there’s something tight around her neck and she can’t see it – but it’s tight, tight and choking and f*ck oh f*ck she can’t breathe.

He releases her when the world starts to lose its colour.

“What was that?”

“Yes.”

There’s a soft drizzle of rain now and Bellatrix clenches her wand in her pocket and moves towards the door. She dislikes getting wet.

She lets herself in and the woman is already in the foyer ready to greet her with a smile on her face and a plea in her eyes. Her brow furrows at the unfamiliarity of Bellatrix’s face.

And Bellatrix raises her wand and slashes a purple hex in the air that winds itself around the woman’s stomach and slices. The woman’s eyes are wide and her mouth wobbles and her fingers tremble around the bleeding as though part of her thinks she is strong enough to put herself back together.

Bellatrix moves on.

There’s the husband now – his face is still tight and his ears are still flaming. She points her wand at his neck and he chokes out a cough of surprise (and his hands are fingering his neck frantically as he tries to wrap his stupid Muggle brain around the fact that he is being strangled by nothing more than the air itself).

She saves the boy for last.

His face is pale and his eyes are dark as he stares at his purple bloated father.

Bellatrix points the wand at his chest and the boy is blanketed in death – swift and soft and quiet.

Thank you to Hokey for the beautiful banner. And thank you to everyone who nominated and judged --I'm so grateful to you <3.

Name: Free_Elf/BecHouse: HufflepuffCharacter Used: Luna LovegoodRatings/Warnings: 1st-2nd/teensiest mention of substance abuseWord Count: 479A/N: Man, I struggled with this one, but hey, I managed something for every week! This whole challenge has been hard but good fun, barmaids, thank you

Over and over and over. Candlelight flashed on the coin as it turned in Luna’s fingers. Always turning over, first one side in sight, then the other. Never stopping. Just like Luna’s thoughts.

Who could have guessed that after six months of working to safeguard her memories, one would surface that she would do anything to forget? She was too good at remembering; nothing could remove it. Not reversing her memory exercises or hypnotising herself to forget. Not keeping busy or spending time with her friends. Not even drinking herself into a stupor. The memory always stayed, turning over and over in her mind. Luna could not help but remember.

She remembered the hardness of the concrete floor beneath her. She remembered the clammy air heavy like a blanket around her. She remembered the soft ache of bruises and the sharp sting of grazed palms. She remembered the faintest echo of voices whispering their way under the door of the cellar. She remembered the words. She remembered the name.

Selwyn.

It was him. Of course, the Erumpent horn had done plenty of damage, but Selwyn... Luna had heard him bragging to Bellatrix how he had made certain there was nothing left, in punishment for letting Harry slip away. The conversation between Selwyn and Bellatrix ran again through Luna’s mind, the turning of the coin falling into the rhythm of the words.

The words. The coin. The name.

Another memory clicked into place. The name, again, but spoken in another's voice, not Bellatrix's. Neville's voice. She let the coin turn over and over, and let the memory reform.

The new words came. Neville, talking about his new assignment. Confiding in Luna, as he had back in the Room of Requirement, even though everything was supposed to be top-secret. After all, Neville could trust Luna to keep his secrets; there was no one to tell here, tucked away in the country trying to build up the courage to return to Hogwarts. So he told her his latest assignment.

The Aurors had tracked down Selwyn and Neville was on observation, with Ron and a supervisor, for the next few days, in preparation for the arrest.

Rage burned through her, hotter and brighter than the candle flame illuminating the room. After what he had done, how dare they let him run free for six months and then, when they found him, choose to just watch? He needed to pay for what he had done.

The rage grew stronger with every turn of the coin.

The coin. If only they hadn’t agreed to deactivate them at the end of the Battle, she could have used it to track Neville. If she found Neville, she would find Selwyn, and make him pay. She could reactivate her coin; she knew the spell. Neville would never trust her again. But this was Selwyn.

Neville groaned as his mind gradually returned to consciousness and the world around him came into hazy view. He had no idea where he was.

He tried to think back to how he had ended up there but his everything was blank. Whatever happened, the punishment inflicted on him had obviously been severe.

He attempted to push himself up into a sitting position but his surroundings swam in and out of focus and he wasn’t convinced he could lift his head without losing consciousness again. He became aware that his vision was further impaired by only being able to see out of one eye, the other seeming to be swollen shut.

I can’t stay here forever, he thought to himself as he prepared for another attempt at standing. He was starting to panic. Have they removed my memories? Or have I just hit the ground a bit too hard? He felt suddenly vulnerable, terrified of what his memory-loss could mean.

With a momentous effort, and relying largely on the sudden adrenaline rush that accompanied his new sense of panic, Neville heaved himself to his feet.

It was only now that he could fully appreciate his surroundings. He was not far from the Gryffindor common room. He must have collapsed on his way back.

People would be waiting for him. There were so many people relying on him. When it had been the three of them in charge, the responsibility had been easier to handle. Even with just him and Ginny they had been okay. But Neville wasn’t sure how well he was doing on his own. The memory of Michael Corner, bruised and battered after his failed rescue mission was all too clear in Neville’s mind. He couldn’t ask anyone else make that sort of sacrifice.

He began to walk, slowly and carefully, towards the common room. As he did so, his arm brushed against a piece of parchment in the pocket of his robe. He pulled it out and recognised the neat handwriting of his gran. Confused, he began to read it and all at once his memories seemed to rush back into his head. The force of it was enough to almost make him fall down again. They had tried to take his Gran, but they had failed, and now Neville had been punished for it.

Along with the memories, a new realisation had come to him. He would be the next to disappear. But unlike Luna or Ginny, he wouldn’t be imprisoned or able to escape. The Carrows had no hold over him. They needed to be rid of him for good. And given the way they had treated him last night, his end would be brutal.

He quickened his pace back to the common room. Now that he understood what had really happened last night, there wasn’t any time to lose. He felt suddenly weak; after everything that had happened, perhaps it was time to stop fighting, at least publicly. It was time to disappear.

Rules (There aren't many)
1) The four drabbles must play a significant part in your oneshot.
2) You are allowed to edit, rearrange, and reorder your drabbles.
3) You may add (in fact you'll probably have to add a least a few lines)
4) Your oneshot cannot be any longer than 9000 words. It may not be shorter than 1200.

ANNOUNCEMENT!

Because I have been contacted beforehand by at least two people who have been having difficulties posting due to RL or forum issues, I am leaving Week 4's thread open until Monday April 30th, 8pm BST. If you need me to post your drabble, then please contact me using the archive contact email in my account.

You have until May 14th to submit your oneshot. Please put this line in your summary.

This is [your name] of [your house] submitting my entry for Rosmerta's Mini-Gauntlet being held in The Three Broomsticks over at the MNFF beta boards.

Name: Lovisa/LollyLovesickHouse: HufflepuffCharacter Used: Pansy ParkinsonRatings/Warnings: 3rd-5th years, implied sexual situations, profanity.Word Count: 500A/N: This has been so much fun and the prompts were great. Thank you! Also, a huge thank you to Soraya for beta'ing this.

Edit: Hah! My subconscious is weird; "A pansy is a kind of violet. In magical terms, it is noteworthy for its appearance in Shakespeare's play "A Midsummer Night's Dream," in which it is referred to by its other name of "love-in-idleness." In the play, Puck used the juice of the pansy to cause most of the trouble, squeezing drops of it onto the eyes of unsuspecting sleepers to cause them to fall in love with the next creature they saw." From the lexicon. Didn't remember that I've ever read that when I wrote this.

The plan is flawless.

It isn’t elegant; it isn’t sophisticated - it’s simple and it will work.

In Knockturn Alley, she easily finds what she needs: a love potion, quick-acting and strong. The first person he sets his eyes on about a minute after he’s drunk it, he’ll want desperately. The desire will be so strong that nothing in the world can overrule it. It will work for one night only. In one night he will destroy everything he loves.

She knows she can’t do it herself. She fears that, at his touch, she won’t be able to walk away. Instead, she hires a prostitute and instructs her to approach him as soon as possible after Pansy has given her a signal to do so.

Pansy sends an owl to Draco, and on the tiny scroll it carries, there is a short message:

She thinks it would be nice to catch up after all these years; will he meet her?

Of course he will.

When he walks into the café, her heart is pounding like it’s trying to beat its way out of her chest, but she keeps calm and calls out for him. He turns around, and she waves, smiling. He walks over to her table and they embrace awkwardly before sitting down.

They exchange the customary pleasantries while he orders a coffee. When it arrives Pansy manages to trip the waitress who spills the hot beverage all over their table. Pansy offers him her cup while they wait for a new one. Pansy looks over to the girl sitting in the corner and makes sure she’s catching on..

Draco says a lot of rude things about the waitress. Pansy assures him that it’s alright, that she can’t take more caffeine anyway. Draco takes a sip. Pansy exhales silently.

She casts a quick look out the window and swears internally. There is a pregnant woman approaching outside and Pansy recognises her as Astoria. She’s too early. If the first person Draco sees is his own wife, then Pansy wouldn’t have had to bother in the first place.

Astoria looks worried and her face is blotchy.

Then, as if a window has been opened up to her, Pansy remembers. It’s vivid, but not very clear. She’s about five years old and in her room as she hears doors slamming and her mother screaming; “Caught red-handed! Again! Who the f*ck does he think he is, betraying me like this, over and over again?” Someone is mumbling soothingly but is interrupted; “Because I have a daughter to feed and I can’t do it without him! I’d rather stand his wh*res than poverty.”

Colours and shapes merge together, then her mother’s face appear before her, tear-streaked and almost a bit mad-looking. “Don’t ever fall in love Pansy. It’s a f*cking tragedy.”

A bell rings as Astoria enters the café and Pansy stares at her swollen belly.